


so that's what heartbreak feels like

by beekayem



Category: Handa-kun, ばらかもん | Barakamon
Genre: Fluff, Hiroshi POV, M/M, Main Pairing Handa/Yukio, Mild Angst, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekayem/pseuds/beekayem
Summary: It started with every brush of fingers as he passed the meals to Handa each day. The warm curve of Handa’s lips as he greeted him. The softness in Handa’s gaze as he led the younger man into the house.Honestly, was it any surprise that Hiroshi had fallen for the man?





	1. t h e  h u s b a n d

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smjit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smjit/gifts).



> Okay so if you've gotten this far thinking it's a Handa/Hiroshi, then you're wrong and if it's going to upset you then maybe turn back now ^^  
> I have only seen maybe two episodes of Barakamon, but I watched all of Handa-Kun which is where the majority of the inspiration for this fic came from, and where Yukio came from of course.  
> Also just fyi, I have like zero knowledge of Japanese culture. So if it reads odd that's probably because I'm useless (but I AM trying!)

It started with every brush of fingers as he passed the meals to Handa each day. The warm curve of Handa’s lips as he greeted him. The softness in Handa’s gaze as he led the younger man into the house. 

Honestly, was it any surprise that Hiroshi had fallen for the man?

There was a delicate beauty about him that had drawn him in at first. Handa Seishuu looked like the people in the magazines all dramatic contrasts with his pale skin and dark hair. Tall, and slim he wore the city well in the way he dressed and spoke.

Hiroshi was his polar opposite with his hair and skin all warm and golden. He wore the calm of the island in the loose slope of his shoulders and the ease of his smiles when interacting with the other islanders. A _rustic charm_ as his mother had put it once, just like his father.

It was with this knowledge that Hiroshi decided to make his feelings known to sensei.

Armed with the potato stew he knew Handa favoured, Hiroshi left the house with a belated goodbye to his mother. The sun was shining and the ocean was a smooth reflection of the blue sky. Today was a good day. Today was _the_ day.

As he neared the little wooden house that sensei lived in, he could make out another figure wandering towards him in the distance. Hiroshi sent out a silent plea to the universe that whoever it was wasn’t visiting Handa as well. The universe was not on his side though, and they both reached the house at the same time.

The man was short and slight with mousy brown hair. In his hands he held two large suitcases, and on his face he held what could only be identified as resignation. Hiroshi had never seen his man before, but it only took a glance at his clothing to realise he was from the city too.

“Excuse me,” the man sounded tired and he paused briefly to roll his shoulders, “But can you tell me if this is where Handa Seishuu lives?” Glancing over at the house Hiroshi nodded, “Yeah this is where he lives. I’m Hiroshi by the way, are you a friend of-“ he doesn’t get a chance to finish his question before the door slid open and Handa appeared.

If by appeared one meant ‘flew out of the house moving faster than Hiroshi had ever seen him move before’.

The newcomer dropped the suitcases and flung himself into sensei’s waiting arms. Hiroshi took a half step back to avoid being hit by the sudden flailing arms. He watched as the two men seemed to squeeze the life out of each other before separating with more than a little reluctance.

“Hiroshi!”

At once Hiroshi’s attention was returned to sensei.

“Hiroshi, I’d like to introduce you to Yukio. Yukio this is Hiroshi, he is the reason I haven’t withered away from starvation yet.” As Hiroshi turned his gaze to the newcomer he noticed that Yukio’s gaze was locked solely on Handa, “And Hiroshi I’d like you to meet Yukio my husband.”

Oh.

So that was what a heart breaking felt like.

Shaking the proffered hand, Hiroshi forced a slightly ill looking smile onto his face, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Yukio beamed at him, completely unaware of what his presence was doing to Hiroshi, “It’s nice to meet you too! I have to admit I was really sure I’d come home from visiting my parents to find him starved to death in our apartment.” He fixed his husband with a playful glare, “He’s useless at cooking. Once he made pudding in cooking class-worst thing I’ve eve-“ his words were muffled as Handa’s hands covered his mouth and gently tugged Yukio back towards him.

“Don’t trust anything he tells you, the man is a pathological liar.” But Handa couldn’t hide the fondness as he smiled down at the man.

Yukio’s eyes widened in mock outrage as he spun around in sensei’s arms and poking him in the chest, “ _Me_? You’re the one who punched some curator and got himself shipped off to an island! And you didn’t even tell me! I had to hear it from Kawafuji!” by the time he finished it was clear that it was no longer fun. Shoulders tensed and expression tight with repressed anger, Yukio had closed his eyes as his clenched fists rested against Handa.

Sensei captured Yukio’s hands in his own and lightly pressed his lips against his palms in two soft kisses, “I’m sorry.” He murmured into the pink flesh, “I was so embarrassed and I knew you’d be angry-“

“Of course I’m angry! I’m angry because I wasn’t there for you, and I couldn’t come and see you and make sure you were okay until now! And you refused to tell me about any of it except the bare essentials…”

With the taste of ash in his mouth and a dull, empty ache in his chest, Hiroshi awkwardly cleared his throat. As they both turned to look at him, he lifted the bowl of potato stew up and motioned towards the house, “I’ll just go put this inside okay?” he hesitated and stared down at the meal, “I don’t know if there will be enough for the both of you,” _lie_ , he’d added extra in the hopes he could stay to eat after confessing his feelings, “So hopefully you will be alright.”

Before either one of them could answer he fled inside the house and placed the bowl down onto the table.

Naru was sitting beside the room filled with sensei’s calligraphy papers, her eyes wide and excited as she watched him, “Hiro! Is it true that man is sensei’s boyfriend?”

Taking a deep breath and swallowing down the lump in his throat Hiroshi offered a weak facsimile of a smile toward the young girl, “Husband Naru, he’s sensei’s husband.”

Excited shrieks resounded throughout the small wooden house as Naru bounced around with the new information.

Hiroshi took this distraction as his chance to leave.

Keeping his eyes to the ground in front of him he tried to ignore the couple outside beyond murmuring a quiet goodbye. He was forced to stop when a hand encircled his wrist, and turned to see Yukio watching him with open gratefulness.

“Thank you,” he spoke with overwhelming sincerity, “For taking care of him. It really has been hard not being here for him, and I’m just so glad he wasn’t alone.”

Nodding slowly, Hiroshi withdrew his arm carefully, “No problem, sensei is very popular here. Ma would’ve had my head if I hadn’t helped out.”

Yukio huffed a bemused laugh, “Yeah he’s quite the people person.” Though the way he said it suggested there was more to the words than it seemed, “Take care Hiroshi.” He waved as he turned towards his new home and wandered inside.

The walk home took no time at all and Hiroshi fell into his bed face first with a low groan.

Today was _not_ the day.


	2. t h e  i s l a n d

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all is well for our newcomer.  
> Not beta'd, written with little to no knowledge of Barakamon or Japanese culture XP

It started with the strong scent of rotting fish. 

Yukio had spent the first two weekends on the island pottering around in the garden, trying to find space for a herb patch. He’d always wanted a cooking garden, and he was finally in a house with enough yard to accomplish that. 

On the third weekend he’d pulled on his straw hat and wandered outside to the smell of fish. Eye wateringly potent, Yukio had hunted around the shrubs and flowers until he’d found the source of the offensive odour. Seven decaying fish, wrapped haphazardly in some leaves and shoved in a small gap under the house. They’d been partially hidden by one of the flowers he’d planted the week before.

_ Why would somebody _ Yukio stopped that train of thought and shook his head. It was probably just one of the children. They were always hanging around so they’d probably thought to use them in some sort of prank. They wouldn’t get to of course, Yukio just threw the fish in the bin and resumed his gardening. 

He thought nothing more of it.

Until it happened again. 

Three more fish tucked away near where he’d been working the last weekend. 

And then again.

Four fish, close to where he’d moved to working the weekend before.

Somebody was following his movements in the garden and placing dead fish for him to find?

A month and a half after his arrival, he sat down to eat opposite his husband and watched him carefully. Handa was oblivious to the scrutiny as he shovelled udon into his mouth.

“Seishuu have you-“ Yukio stopped. Of course Handa wouldn’t have noticed. Apart from calligraphy and Yukio, Handa had little to no interest in what was going on around him. 

“Mmm?” the noodle hanging half out of his husband’s mouth was sucked up and quickly swallowed as Handa continued, “Have I what?”

Peering down at his bowl Yukio shook his head slowly, “Nothing.” Because it probably was nothing. He was overthinking things. It was the children they were playing games that was all. 

* * *

Yukio had always been so average - something he’d worked very hard at in high school. When he’d first started dating Handa in their final year the news had spread like wildfire and almost overnight he’d become _somebody_. Much to his dismay. After graduating and moving on to their adult lives, things had calmed down for him thank goodness. He was happy to stand in Handa’s shadow, quietly supporting him. 

So it was disconcerting to realise that he was not so average on the island. Even more so to realise that people watched him when he wandered through the village. Their stares drilled holes into him. 

After he caught one old woman actually _spitting_ in his direction, Yukio started noticing other things happening around him.

People watched him. No, not just watched. People glared at him. 

When he walked to the general store with Handa, people constantly stopped and spoke to his husband. Yukio was used to that. What he wasn’t used to was people actually turning and walking in the opposite direction when they saw him by himself. 

Things were also going missing and when he brought it up to Handa, he’d just shrugged and mentioned the children enjoyed moving things around. Yukio had grudgingly accepted that until the photo went missing. 

They had a scrapbook (Yukio had been in charge of layouts while Handa had insisted on doing the writing) of their wedding day, but Yukio had a small framed photo that he’d taken himself of them in the car on their way to their honeymoon. The photo was probably his favourite one of them as a couple, so he noticed immediately when it wasn’t in the pocket he usually kept it. 

It turned up three days later torn over his face and covered in marks like it had been stomped into the dirt - carefully slipped back into the pocket it lived in.

He didn’t understand. 

What had he done that somebody (or more than one somebody as it seemed) would target him specifically?

He sat dejected on the step outside of the house. The photo was clasped between his fingers and took the hit of the first tear as it fell. Handa was off adventuring with his persistent little fanclub of children so Yukio didn’t worry about being caught crying. 

“Oh…Yukio-san…are you……okay?” 

Glancing up Yukio hastily wiped his face with the back of his hand, “Hiroshi!” he rose to his feet shakily and offered a short wave with the hand holding the photo, “I was just upset about something, it’s not important.”

Before he could lower his arm, Hiroshi’s fingers snapped the photograph out of his hand. A look of understanding crossed the blond’s face as he gazed intently at the image. He brandished it at Yukio, frowning as he shook it, “What else has been going on? Have you told-“

“No! No, I didn’t tell him. I’m not telling him.” Yukio knew his husband had enough on his plate. He didn’t want to add his own pathetic little dramas to the stress he knew Handa was under. 

Hiroshi shook his head, “We’re fixing this now, come with me.” And with that he took Yukio’s wrist and led him toward the shops. 

The people watched curiously as Yukio was walked past them. Upon reaching the middle of the village Hiroshi turned to face the small crowd of people who’d followed along to see what was happening.

“I appreciate that you care so much about me, but it needs to stop now.” Hiroshi spoke clearly, channelling his father’s public speaking persona, “He’s a real person and you’re hurting him, and if you really cared about _me_ then you would know that this is the opposite of what I want.” 

Yukio watched as the faces in the crowd slowly grew more and more ashamed. He’d realised he was being targeted, but it still ached deep in his chest to find out almost every single person was in on it. 

Hiroshi was still talking, but Yukio needed to understand.

“What did I do?” the words flew from his mouth in a rush before he could stop them. He’d cut Hiroshi off, but once the attention was turned to him he found he couldn’t bring himself to care, “Because I _am_ sorry. I am. Whatever it was, I didn’t mean to do it.”

His blond companion shook his head, “You didn’t do anything. They…” he hesitated looking uncomfortable before seemingly making up his mind and continuing, “I didn’t know that Seishuu-san was married, and I had- _have_ romantic feelings for him. The village knew. They were hurting you because of me and I am so sorry Yukio-san.” Hiroshi looked close to tears himself as he implored Yukio to understand.

Nodding slowly, Yukio reached out and squeezed Hiroshi’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault either.” He turned back to the crowd, his usually open and pleasant expression was like stone. This was not the unassuming young man they had thought him to be, “Seishuu doesn’t hear about this.” His tone brooked no arguments. The crowd shuffled nervously, “He doesn’t find out. Ever.” And just as quickly as it had come, the stoic fury was gone and he smiled sheepishly, “And we’ll be okay.” 

Hiroshi was still staring at the young man. 

For a moment there – just a moment, he’d known true fear. 

Yukio huffed a laugh as the crowd dispersed with mutters and wary backward glances. He turned a shy smile to Hiroshi, “If you’re still feeling guilty, could I get your champon recipe? Seishuu keeps mentioning it.”

It was easier to answer the smile this time, “You can. I’ll even tell you the story of what happened the first time I took it to him.”

The glint in Yukio’s eye was dangerous, “Oh I’m very ready to hear about all of the stupid things he did while I wasn’t here.”

They began the walk back to Hiroshi’s house sharing stories about Handa, and when Handa returned home to find champon for dinner he knew he’d made a mistake introducing the two.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so this has turned into a _thing_. I have like one more kind of vaguely planned lil chapter for this, and there is the potential to add more lil oneshots throughout Handa/Yukio's lives ^^ we'll see though


End file.
